


Ain’t that Easy

by neogenesis85



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female Sam Wilson, Genderbending, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Wartime Violence, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neogenesis85/pseuds/neogenesis85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d made some questionable choices in her life before. She couldn't even try to deny that fact. There was a growing list that spanned from that time she thought she was Superman and jumped off the roof of her grandmother’s one-story house (breaking her leg in the process) to the time she signed up with the Air Force with Riley during one of his rebelling against daddy moments. </p>
<p>But dealing with Steve and Bucky both was turning out to be the most ridiculous thing she’d ever gotten herself into. And just maybe the most rewarding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I lied to myself when I said I wasn’t going to be writing another Marvel fic. But MCU is really lacking when it comes to black women and I might be in love with Sam Wilson. So here is a thing that takes care of both. Not sure how far my momentum will take this, but I aim to finish it in something that isn’t novel length. And seeing how it’s helping me get over a rough bought of writer’s block, I’m pretty dedicated.

_Someone_ _called this in_ Sam thought, knowing the disgust was reading clear on her face as the kid she was trying to calm with her limited Farsi bled out. _Some fuck nut had to call this in and now there are who knows how many people dead_.

There were no casualties on their side. Just a few scrapes to wipe antiseptic on caused by flying debris from a fire mission that was so danger close it was almost suicidal. But on the civilian side? Well, they’d managed to level one half of an already ramshackle apartment building because a Marine convey had received a few pot shots from somewhere a few buildings down almost twenty minutes before.  
  
Sam didn’t get it. Whoever had been pulling the trigger on that AK would have exited the scene long before the SAWs and 50 Cals stopped ringing in retort. It was the nature of their war. The enemy had been using the locals as cover from the start, back even before her boots first touched Afghan sand. Back when the Republican Guard were displaying their damn red diamonds on everything like it was a status symbol.  
  
But at that point she didn’t know who the bigger coward was; the person that started this whole tragedy, or the over overzealous officer that called in the air strike that was nothing but overkill. Which probably meant he’d get an award for it, once the brass figured out a way to turn the situation around into some messed up act of valor.

She, Riley and two other PJs had taken an aerial sweep of the area before branching off, one pair to check on the boys in their desert-camo vehicles, while she and Riley were left to check on the civvies.

So there she was, watching a child bleed out from the shrapnel wound to his neck, the gauze and Izzy bandage they’d applied not doing much to staunch the flow of blood. Surrounded by the bodies of his family half buried in the fallout.

The floor she was kneeling on was tilted at a dangerous angle and the air was quickly filling up with rank, black smoke. Something a few floors down was burning, the collapsed side of the building providing the flow of air needed to feed the blaze. She wasn’t an engineer, but it didn’t take a genius to know that the whole place was unstable.

Time was running out. And she and Riley hadn’t even made it more than two levels down from their rooftop landing. The young boy they were both hovering over was the first survivor they’d found so far. Though there were screams and cries for help coming from other parts of the building. She had to tune them out, just like she had to tune out the chatter coming from her earpiece, though she was able to catch that air evac was on the way.  
  
Not that it mattered really. She figured they had ten, eleven minutes tops before whatever feat of design keeping the place together gave up the ghost and everything went to rubble.

“We gotta move,” Riley said while eyeing the floor with a worried frown but she barely acknowledged him, still speaking softly to the boy. One of her hands was plastered to the dressing on his neck wound, the purple surgical glove being covered by the blood still seeping through. The other hand was carding her fingers through his slight curls, knowing he was dying. There wasn’t anything else they could do for him, but she could at least be there for the end of it.

“Wilson! Did you hear me?”

She looked up at Riley. She knew she was a little out of it. There were other people that needed their help. There were other people who might have been better off then the kid she was still trying to save even though he’d already gone in to shock.

But she was stuck. Something about his face and the whole ordeal had her rooted to her spot, her EXO pack weighing her down even more. This wasn’t what she signed up for. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. The rising number of estimated innocent deaths had been running through her head for weeks now and for whatever reason it all came crashing down on her at that moment.  
  
Along with part of the ceiling.  
  
One second she was looking at Riley’s frustrated green eyes and the next both she and the boy were falling along with the floor. Down in to smoke and darkness. Her first instinct was to grab her for chute handle, but even without the pieces of concrete colliding painfully with her back that would have prevented it from deploying, there was just not enough height.

_I always figured I’d die falling, but not like **this**_ , was her last clear thought before she was being buried by chunks of man made rock, rebar, brick and ceramic tile.

And then she could barely breathe. There was too much coming down in what seemed like a never ending shower of dust and weight. She could hear Riley screaming for her over both the ruckus and on her comms and she tried so hard to reply. But her mouth and throat were caked dry and she couldn’t get the sound out. So she fought, trying her best to crawl and dig her way out… but couldn’t. There was too much smothering her, covering her in shadows and such heat in some places. One arm was trapped and the other was throbbing in pain so bad it brought tears to her eyes whenever she tried to move it.

She was stuck, taking in desperate gasps of polluted air and hearing both Riley calling her name over and over and that poor boy barking at her somewhere in the dark. High pitched and constant. Barking with a sound that was definitely not natural. And even as she still struggled to find a way out to help him, she knew it was all wrong.

There was no way he could make those kinds of noises with half his throat cut open. And the pressure surrounding her was all of a sudden too soft, even if it was still too hot and suffocating.

She thrashed around in a way she shouldn’t have been able to with both her arms out of commission, but her confusion and desperation at those cries overrode everything logical before something beneath her shifted and she was falling again.

This time it was to solid ground.

She jarred awake.  
  
It took a few moments for her to grasp it was just a very vivid dream. To realize the cocoon surrounding her and cutting off her air was only her blankets. That the barking was just her neighbor’s dog yapping outside. That she was home and she was cheek down on the hardwood of her bedroom floor, having somehow made her way there while sleeping.  
  
Heart pounding, she took several deep breaths, trying to reign in everything she was feeling while still being pissed off that her neighbor didn’t know how to lock their damn doggie door. Yet at the same time she was glad, because that memory wasn’t one she ever had a need to replay. Though it didn’t stop it from being one of several reoccurring stars in her sleep.

After awhile she was able to shift the covers off and push herself up into a sitting position. Her hands were shaking, and she had to clench them into fists and press them down on her thighs before the slight tremors stopped.

The alarm clock on her nightstand told her it was going on 5:30 in the morning, only an hour before it was set to go off, when she finally had the presence of mind to look at it. She figured she’d gotten enough sleep, all things considering, and got up to turn on her lamp and pull out her exercising clothes. 15 minutes later she was washed up and dressed, heading out to her car with her keys in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

It was early so the real morning traffic hadn’t started yet and she was able to drive to the Mall without the normal bumper-to-bumper commute. She rolled down the windows to let the spring air in, picking up hints of pollen as some talk radio played quietly as background noise. By the time she paralleled into a parking space, a few birds were starting to chirp and the sky was lightening up a little. She used a parking meter to stretch her legs before shaking everything out and letting her feet take her on a familiar path.

Running wasn’t like flying. There was nothing she’d been able to find so far that could compare to being up in the air, catching drafts and hearing the roar of wind in her ears. But it was the best she could get now that she was grounded and her finances didn’t allow for the skydiving and parasailing adventures that at one time took up a good part of her teen years. Her economy car wasn’t exactly built for that kind of rush, and pulling Riley’s Ducati out of her garage had resulted in a few speeding tickets too many.

So she hit the pavement hard.

It still wasn’t enough to get her mind off the desert and Riley, and the body of that kid they eventually pulled out with her once the collapse had settled and the backup to their backup showed up. It didn’t help to get rid of the phantom pains in her fingers and forearm from what were once broken bones. The only ones she’d gotten in what had to have been some sort of miraculous intervention which created a pocket in the wreckage that kept her from being crushed.

_“Samantha fucking Wilson… Touched by an angel.” Riley had said to her once she’d been pulled free and a couple of corpsman were strapping her to a backboard. He was smirking down at her, her wing pack leaning against his legs. “One of these days your dumb luck is gonna run out.”_

_She tried to shrug in response, but the brace around her neck made it damn near impossible. Not to mention the movement really hurt. She settled on a grin of her own which turned into a grimace as the docs hauled her up, jostling her a bit._

_“Probably not before yours.”_ _She still managed to get out before they started carting her away. Riley flipped her the bird before scooping up her pack in both arms and jogging wearily after them._

And while that hadn’t been the first or last of many close calls she’d managed to get out of by the skin of her teeth, her words ended up being true. It was Riley’s good fortune that ran out and she was left scrambling to find a reason to hold on to anything once he was gone.

A lap and-a-half in she finally realized she had company, and seeing him shoot past like the devil was after him was enough to jar her out of her thoughts and make her look around just to be sure he wasn’t running that hard for a good reason.

She watched his frame get smaller and smaller up ahead as she slowed her own pace some, brows a little furrowed as the sun started to come up and reflect off his too tight white shirt. Something about him seemed familiar but she couldn’t place it as she settled into a quick jog now that she could feel her thigh muscles protesting her previous speed.

When he looped around again a few minutes later she was nothing but impressed.

Until he opened his mouth to speak and she was able to put the blond hair and physique together.

For whatever reason, _the_ Captain America was running circles around her and taunting her at the same time. There was nothing in the history books about what a teasing jerk he could be, and when he came around again with those same damn words, she picked up her speed in what she already knew was a futile attempt to keep up.  
  
It didn’t take long for her body to realize there was no way she could compete, and when she eventually found a tree to park herself under she couldn’t help but let out a chuckle even though she was completely out of breathe. There was no way anyone was going to believe her story. She almost lamented leaving her phone back in the car, because at least then she would have been able to get proof that it actually happened via a pic or video.

She heard him coming around again but didn’t bother to move, because the tree was pretty much holding her up at that point. When his foot steps slowed she looked his way.

“Need a medic?”  
  
The history books _really_ didn’t get things right, because the man standing above her with his hands on his hips was less boy scout and national treasure and more cocky New Yorker, who she also figured just might have been flirting with her a bit.

Despite that, she could see the shadow of aimlessness edging around the corners of his eyes. When he reached out to pull her to her feet she couldn’t help but bait him a bit, and wasn’t at all surprised to see him shut down and try to pull away as quickly, yet politely, as possible.

She wondered what kind of rehabilitation he was going through since being brought back, or if he was even receiving it. She had a hard enough time coming home after her first tour, trying to adjust back to what everyone else considered normal life. Just imagining waking up some 70 plus years in the future made her feel edgy.

She steered the conversation back to something he was more comfortable with, and watching the animation on his face just served to bring home how unreal the whole thing was. It wasn’t that she was star struck. She’d had her own time in the limelight once, back when she and a few others were the faces of women in special ops. There were weeks of talk show circuits, a few ‘debates’ on cable news about the pros and cons of allowing women in what used to be an all boys club that she’d put her two cents in. She met a number of high profile people before everything caught up with her and she figured she wasn’t much about the celebrity life.  

Hell, she’d sat five seats down from the President at a State dinner once.

So meeting Steve Rogers didn’t trip her up.

But as he rode away in a car that was almost as sexy as the red head driving it, she had to shake her head in disbelief. That was her life now, apparently. Trying to race supper soldiers and hoping they actually did stop by the center. Because something was eating at him and though she wasn’t even close to being qualified to help him out, she could point him in the right direction.

Or, at the very least, get his veteran benefits straightened out. Because Uncle Sam owed him big time.

A few days later when she saw him leaning in the doorway during one of her group meetings, she was actually surprised he showed up.

He didn’t know what made him happy. And that was alright, because most people would have a hard time pinpointing something that wasn’t an obligation that got them out of bed every morning. Happiness was relative in so many ways, changing as quickly as the wind. But unhappiness… that was something that was easier to define. And it was obvious Steve was trying his best to cover his up.

All she could think was that he didn’t deserve it. He’d gone through so much and was _still_ giving so much of himself. Out of anybody he should have been the one with a storybook happy ending.

“You hungry,” she asked before he could find a way to retreat. The smile on his face was supposed to read casual acceptance, but she could see the ache behind it. And god, both her mother and her therapist were right about her getting attached to broken people.

She could feel it happening as he stood there with his too broad shoulders and all American looks, giving off the general air of a lost puppy that needed a few good meals and lots of cuddles.

“Because I’m starving,” she went on, resigned to her fate. Trying to help him fix himself was going to happen. He might not know he was ready for it, but the fact that he was there was enough to let her know that he was reaching out for something.

“There’s a Mexican joint a few blocks from here. It’s my lunch break and I honestly don’t think I can let you get away without trying it. I’m sure you’ve crossed that off your list by now, but this place is the real deal. Not that Tex Mex crap you’d get everywhere else.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got a few hours to kill.”

They walked in mostly silence before settling in a window booth across from a mounted television showing a telenovela that had crossed over from campy to pretty much parodying itself. At least that was what is seemed from what she was able to translate.  
  
She already knew what she was going to order, but it was damn entertaining watching Steve flip through the laminated menu, his brows furrowed.

“Everything is in Spanish.”

“Yup.” She nodded. “I can order for you if you want.”

He pursed his lips a bit, shaking his head. “Some of it is familiar. I’ve had it before, I mean. But I can get a taco or quesadas anywhere.”

“Feeling adventures, huh?”  
  
“Something like that.” He looked up at her. “Got any recommendations?”

She thought it over for a few seconds. “Try the menudo.”

He went back to the menu. “What’s that?”

“A soup. It’s also the name of a boy band, but that’s one part of pop culture you can afford to miss out on.”

He pulled out his notepad anyway and scribbled down the name, spelling it back to her to make sure he’d gotten it right. All she could do was roll her eyes as the server came over and they placed their orders.

“I’m not gonna regret this am I?” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

“The dish or the band?”

“Both, I guess.”

“As long as you don’t have anything against tripe and bad 70s fashion, I think you’ll be alright,” she answered.  
  
He gave her a thoughtful look. “I’ve dealt with stranger things, to be honest.”

She huffed out a laugh because that was the understatement of the century. “No shit?”

He reached for his silverware, his fingers worrying the paper napkin wrapped around them.

“So, are you… uh,” he stammered. “Are you only interested in other women?”

“Why?” She couldn’t help but taunt him. “You interested or something?”  
  
The tips of his ears went red and Sam had to grab her glass of water and take a gulp to tamper down the laugh that was building up in her throat.

“No.” His shook his head just a little too adamantly. “It’s just that I talked to Dominique. The receptionist at the VA.”

She nodded as she swallowed, encouraging him to go on.

“You _do_ know she’s married right? And pregnant?”  
  
Biting her bottom lip didn’t stop the smile from breaking out on her face or a few chuckles escaping. His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked her over.

“Was that just a ploy to get me to stop by?”

She did laugh then. “Maybe?”

“That was manipulative.” He gave her a mock frown. “Stop that. It’s not funny. I’m questioning everything you’ve said to me now. Do you even like girls? Because if that was another ruse I don’t think we can be friends.”

“Oh, I’m into girls. And guys, for what it’s worth,” she said after gaining some control over her laughter. “Equal opportunist right here. I just figured it was a good way to get you there, with you being such a good wing man to humanity and all.”

Sobering up a bit, she rubbed a hand across her hair. “Man, look. I kind of get the feeling you haven’t really talked to anybody since the whole thaw out. I was messed up when I got out, and that was with seeing only a fraction of the combat you must have. The VA is an imperfect system, like most of everything government-run in this country. But at least there are people with like experiences around to help get you get in a better head space.”

Instead of answering he turned his gaze to look out the window. The sunlight streaming through the glass highlighted his features, making his ridiculously long eyelashes stand out even more. There was a hint of stubble appearing around his jaw and she wondered briefly how often he had to shave every day with the way his metabolism worked.

“I’m not sure that’s for me,” he said finally.

Sam took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as the silence stretched on for an uncomfortable moment. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind at the moment, because damn the guy had an impressive poker face. Whatever he was thinking about, she had a pretty good idea she’d lost him.

It happened more often then not when she was trying to open that door for people. She’d gotten over feeling disappointed whenever her offer for help was turned down. It certainly helped when she remembered how tenaciously she’d refused to even entertain the idea that some sort of counseling might be the thing to help get her back on her feet.

And just judging by his life story, Steve had decades of stubbornness that beat hers by miles.

She gave a mental shrug as their food came and she dug into her enmoladas. At least he seemed to enjoy his soup, once he figured out the warm corn tortillas were great for dipping or wrapping up the beans and rice on the plate they came served with.

Eventually he started talking again, the subject changed of course, and she fell into an easy rhythm him.

When the check came they both reached for their wallets.

“Uh ah. Nope.” She shook her head. “Dude, put it back.”

He opened his mouth in protest but she cut him off before he could even start. “I asked you to lunch, Steve. Which means I pay. And don’t give me that affronted look either.”

She slapped a few bills down on the table to emphasize her point before stuffing her wallet back in her jacket and sliding out of the booth.

“I was only offering to pay my half,” he muttered under his breath as he stood up himself. There was an amused smirk on his face as he followed her out the restaurant, and she had to bit her tongue when he rushed ahead to open the door for her.

He walked her back to the center where they paused in the lot where his bike was parked. She looked it over in admiration, asking him about the few modifications she was able to spot. She wasn’t really a mechanical person but she’d been around enough bikes to notice custom work.

“I take it you ride?” There was a look of slight awe on his face as she squatted down to get a better look.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Riley taught me. We were both adrenaline junkies. If it went fast and could possible kill you just as faster, he was all over it. He got me into dirt bike ridding when we were younger. He was more of a crotch-rocket kind of guy, but even he would’ve admitted that this is a beauty right here.”

She sighed as she stood from her crouch. That was the most she’d talked or thought about him in a while. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but it still wasn’t easy. Riley had been such a big part of her life that even years after his death she still found herself turning to share something he would have found funny, only to remember he wasn’t there and would never be there again.

“I guess I should head on in.” She reached out her hand to shake his. His grip was firm, if not overly warm.

“Thanks for lunch.” He said when he let go. “Maybe I’ll see you around the Mall?”

“Sure,” she nodded; even though she knew it wasn’t likely to happen. It wasn’t her usually running route, and she certainly wasn’t planning on being there that early again. At least as long as her dreams didn’t chase her out of bed at an unreasonable hour.

She pointed to the building behind her. “If not, you practically know where I live. See ya around, Cap.”

She turned, feeling his eyes on her the whole time it took for her to cross the rest of the lot and walk inside. The chances of him coming around again were slim. He seemed to have more interest in her then the VA, and while a part of her felt flattered, she wasn’t going to encourage that in the slightest. He didn’t need a distraction in her. He needed therapy and to figure out who he was again outside of his star spangled uniform and shield.

A least she got a good story out of it. _Hey, did I ever tell you about that time I tried to outrace Captain America and why he’s now familiar with Ricky Martin?_  
  
And that should have been the end of it. But then he and the cute red head knocked on her patio door.

She let them in, half because they looked like death warmed over and half because there was a story behind the last 24 hours she really wanted to hear. Every news channel had been talking nonstop about Steve Rogers and how he was suddenly public enemy number one. How S.H.I.E.L.D was down a director and somehow he was connected.

She insisted on giving the woman a quick look over, and once getting an introduction and assessing that none of her wounds were serious, she showed them to the upstairs bathroom.

Natasha went in first, and Steve hovered outside in the hallway as she went to find clothes that might fit them both. She was taller then Natasha, but there was a bag of shrunken items she’d been meaning to donate in the back of her closet, because even as a grown adult she was still hopeless when it came to washing her own wardrobe. Steve would have to make do with the jeans he was wearing and a tee her brother had left behind on his last visit.  
  
When she stepped back out of her room she could hear the shower going. Steve was leaning on the wall beside the bathroom door looking as if the world was pressing down on his shoulders.

It took a few seconds from him to notice her, his thoughts that far away, but when he did he stood up straighter.

“I can’t even begin to thank you, Sam,” He said. “We’ll be out of your hair once we get cleaned up.”

Sam handed over the folded clothes. “Whatever man. Though you start making a habit of popping up like this, all uninvited, I’m gonna start running a tab like I do with all my other strays.”

“That sounds about fair.” He managed to give her a weak smile. “But seriously, thank you.”

“It’s not a problem.” She reached out to give him a reassuring clasp on the shoulder before letting go and starting for the stairs. “I’ll be in the kitchen figuring out my life choices, just in case you need me for anything.”

That got a chortle out of him and if he was able to get some amusement out of her stupid quips then he was doing better than most people would in his situation. She headed for the half bath downstairs, pulling her first aid kit out from under the sink.

She had two options, she figured as she made her way to the kitchen. The first was to let them get themselves together before sending them on their miserable way, hoping their little detour didn’t come back to bite her on the ass. The other was to make good use of the food in her fridge and try to use a decent meal to ply them for answers. And maybe warm them up to more long term help. She was retired, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have any useful skills. Not to mention they didn’t seem to have anyone else to go to if she was the only one Steve could think to seek out.

“Well Sam,” she said to herself as she dropped the heavy box full of med supplies on her kitchen table and popped the latches. “Looks like you’re in the shit again.”

Because she already knew which one she was going to choose.


	2. Chapter 2

 

There was a small feast waiting for them when he and Natasha were changed and headed downstairs.

“Smells good,” she said as they entered the kitchen to see Sam moving a pan of scrambled eggs off a hot burner.

“Thanks,” she nodded in their direction before pointing to a table sitting off to the side where there were plates and silverware waiting. “We’re doing this buffet style, so help yourselves.”

Nat, who seemed to be over the discomfort she’d felt during their talk in the bathroom, didn’t have any qualms about the offer. She ladened up a green plate with a few pancakes, sausage patties and a hardy scoop of what seemed to be fried spuds. Sam had ducked down in the fridge, one hand holding the door open as the other rummaged around inside.

“I’ve got apple juice and milk,” she said, her voice sounding a bit muffled. “I’d offer up the OJ, but only if you don’t mind backwash. There’s fresh coffee in the pot though.”

“Coffee’s fine,” Nat said, having silently moved up behind her to snag a jar of jelly off the fridge door before making her way to the table and settling down. Sam startled, nearly banging her head as she whorled around to eye her suspiciously.

“You need a collar,” she deadpanned. “With a bell on it.”  
  
The statement was ignored as Nat twisted open the lid and grabbed a butter knife. “What about you, Steve?”

“Coffee’s good.” He said absent mindedly as he watched her spread the jelly on one hotcake before loading it up with potatoes and meat. A few seconds later it was folded in half and she was taking bites out of it, holding it together with both hands in a not so successful attempt to stop it from falling apart.

And that was interesting, because while he wouldn’t say he _really_ knew her, they’d ran enough ops together and he’d seen her take on enough roles to know when she was pretending to be at ease. She was damn good at it, and it took someone with a real critical eye to even gauge when she was acting; which was pretty much all of the time.

But as she hummed almost silently around a mouthful of food, he would almost bet that her casual actions were genuine.

Natasha just wasn’t like that around people. He’d always been aware of that calculated physicality that owned each movement and each word when it came to her. As if she was constantly accessing every little nuance of those around her and adjusting her own actions to behave in the way they wanted to perceive her, or how _she_ wanted them to perceive her.  

He both admired and was bothered by her level of control because despite almost two years of working together, he’d always found her frosty in a way that made sure he didn’t get too close or truly trust her. Sure, there where plenty of pleasant exchanges and she seemed to have taken an almost personal investment in his social life, but he wouldn’t have called her a friend. He couldn’t truthfully say he had any. There were people he worked with. People he trained with. People like her and S.T.R.I.K.E. that he trusted (up until now in the latter’s case) to have his back while on assignment. Outside of the job though, there was an alarmingly large hole where more intimate interactions should have been.

And it didn’t come easy to him, making those types of personal connections. Even before he picked up the shield and became a reluctant figurehead for patriotism, he’d found it difficult. There was no shortage of people seemingly willing to follow him to hell and back. But outside of missions or the battle field… well no one had been about to fill that gap Bucky left when he fell. And he honestly didn’t think anyone could live up to what they had; leaving him wondering what was the point of even trying? Most people couldn’t get past the Captain image to truly see he was still that loner kid from Brooklyn who was constantly at odds with the world around him.

Natasha had reached out though. Shown him a vulnerable side that was probably out of necessity considering their situation, but seemed more like an attempt to grasp on to someone that would believe in her. Fury was gone. And Clint, the only other person he could think of that would unequivocally be in her corner, was heavens knew where, most likely trying to deal with an order to bring them both in.

He and Nat were all each other had. It was fragile at best, the thing being forged between them. But it was there, and with every passing hour she was showing parts of herself that made him think they could have been like this a lot sooner if they both hadn’t had so many guards in place.

Sam though, she was a stranger. A nice stranger that let them into her home when most people would have taken one look at their condition and called the cops after turning them away. But a stranger none the less.

Yet there was Nat, sitting with her back to her while practically inhaling the food on her plate, and seemingly comfortable enough with the little bit of information he’d been able to give her on their run from Jersey.

Giving himself a mental shake, he headed for the coffee machine. He filled up two mugs, spooning enough sugar in one to make his teeth ache just by looking at it as Sam skirted around him putting food on her own plate. He took a sip of the untouched mug as he handed the other to Natasha.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t hungry,” Sam said as she sat down at the table and started pouring syrup over her pancakes.  

“Famished, actually.” He grabbed the last plate, pausing to catch her gaze. “You really didn’t have to go out of your way, though.”

“I’m gonna stop you right there because I’m pretty sure there’s another ‘thanks’ coming up.” Sam pointed her fork at him to stress her point, a bit of scrambled eggs stuck in the prongs. “And while I appreciate your gratitude, the best way you can show it is by eating all this damn food.”

“Won’t have a problem there,” Natasha said. “I don’t think he knows the meaning of leftovers.”  
  
”Hey,” he protested, turning from where he’d gone to load up his plate to look at them over his shoulder. “I was a Depression kid. There was no such thing as leftovers, regardless of how bad the food was.”

“Sure,” Sam nodded while unscrewing the lid to a bottle of orange juice. “I bet you also had to walk five miles uphill to school everyday. Both ways. In the snow.”

“More like ten. But who’s counting?”

He plopped down at the table and dug in, trying his best to maintain some semblance of manners. He didn’t know if the food was just really good or he was just that hungry, but he soon found his plate empty while Nat was just working on her second pancake and Sam was giving him an amused look as she took a swig from the juice bottle, her own food barely touched.

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” Sam said. “Don’t let us stop you.”

He gave her a self-conscious smile before scooting back his chair and going for seconds.

They ate in relative silence after that, which meant his mind was running over the events of the past few hours. He wasn’t sure what their next plan of action was going to be, but he and Natasha had to figure something out sooner then later.

They needed more intel into what Hydra’s plans were but it wouldn’t be easy going. They had no allies. All their resources had become dead ends and Hill had gone to ground.

Sam stood up, pulling him away from his thoughts. She grabbed her almost empty dish and headed for the sink, cutting on the water and garbage disposal before scrapping the remains down the drain.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t go anywhere until I get back.” She paused, a contemplative frown on her face. “Or do. Whatever. It’s not like I could stop either of you from leaving. But I think I deserve some sort of explanation as to what the hell is going on. So it would be nice if you are still here when I come back down. And the dishes are in the washer.”

“Sure.” Steve said, glancing quickly at Nat for conformation. She nodded subtly while taking a sip of her coffee. “I’m not going anywhere until the food is gone.”

“Good. Be back in fifteen.” She pointed to one of the cabinets. “Trashcan is under there. The rest I’m sure you two can figure out.”

He watched as she left, pulling her sweatshirt off to reveal a bright orange sports bra underneath as she headed towards the stairs and out of view.

“She seems pleasant.” Natasha said evenly, reaching over to poke around in a fruit bowl that had been sat to the side.

It served to draw his attention back to the table and the last few bites left on his plate. “Yeah. She is.”   
  
“Can we trust her?”  
  
He wanted to think so. But that word was starting to become a bit foreign to him. Sam hadn’t given him a reason not to trust her. She’d put them up and fed them without any complaint, though her sarcasm was heavy throughout it all. But he didn’t think he was in a position to make that call. His track record of people he could rely on wasn’t exactly looking great at the moment.

“Do you think we can?”

She leveled a look at him through the curtain of her hair that was drying in loose waves. “I trust you. If your instincts say we should, then we will.”

That felt like a punch in the gut, because he’d been questioning himself and everything he believed in the moment Fury handed over that blasted flash drive and his friendly, not-actually-a-nurse neighbor came bursting through his apartment door armed for bear. To hear her say it, with such unwavering conviction, helped to set his head right.

“Besides,” she went on as she grabbed a mango out of the bowl. “I doubt she can burn us more than everyone else has.”

“Don’t go jinxing us, Romanoff.”

She knocked on the table with her knuckles three times before pulling a small knife from seemingly out of nowhere and starting carving into the fruit. He shook his head, watching her hands cut and peel with ease before he eventually stood and gathered up the used dishes.

“You are gonna help me with this right,” he asked as he turned on the faucet and started rinsing off plates and his mug.

“I figured you ate most of it, which means you get to do the hard labor.”   
  
He gave her an un-amused look. She popped a piece of mango into her mouth before standing.

“Fine,” she huffed, using a paper napkin to wipe off her knife and pocketing it. She made her way across the room, nudging him not to gently out of the way to rinse her hands before she started going through the cabinets. He watched her out the corner of his eye as he opened up the dishwasher and started loading it. Eventually she found a stack of tupperware and started scraping the last bits of sausage and potatoes into one and snapping a lid on it. There were a few mouthfuls of eggs left over in the frying pan that she eyed for a moment before moving into his space again and reaching for the disposal switch.

“Wait.” Stopping her from dumping it, he grabbed a fork out of the sink and started to feed himself the last few bites, chewing and swallowing quickly so he wouldn’t be able to dwell too long on the congealing texture. He’d had worse, to be honest. But there was something about cold eggs that even his fortified stomach turned at. Still, there was no sense in tossing them out.

Natasha pursed her lips a little in barely contained revulsion.

He shrugged, grabbing the pan from her and rinsing it off. “Waste not, want not. Right?”   
  
Shaking her head, she stashed the tupperware in the fridge before wetting a rag and squeezing a generous amount of dish detergent on it.

“So how much are we going to tell her?” She asked as she started wiping down the counters. He placed the last dish in the washer and stood to look at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Enough to pacify her.” He frowned. “There’s no need to get her more involved then she already is. And if I have any say about it, she’ll know more soon enough. Once we get everything exposed.”

Natasha nodded and flung the rag into the sink. “It’ll be safer to move at night. We’ll need to borrow another car.”

“That’s easy enough.” He let out a hard sigh, reaching up with one hand to rub at his forehead in an attempt to ease the slight ache there. He wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep for a week. The last day or so had been the definition of chaotic and, now that his stomach was full, it was starting to creep up on him. It didn’t matter though. Even if he could find the time, his thoughts going a mile a minute would keep him from getting the rest he obviously needed.

“You alright?” Her voice was pitched low and the concern was evident.

“I’m fine,” he said a little too quickly. She obviously caught it because the look she gave him was dubious at best. He shook his head, hearing Sam making her way down the stairs. “Just… thinking too hard I guess.”  
  
Whatever response she had she bit back as Sam entered the room, dressed in dark jeans and a hoodie over a plan shirt. There was a medium sized basket cradled in one arm as she eyed them with a raised brow, stopping sort a few feet from the table. Natasha’s face went carefully blank and he had to force the tension out of his limbs that he hadn’t noticed up until now.

“I’m not interrupting some super secret mission planning, am I?”

“No, we were just finishing the cleaning.” He assured her, bending down and closing the dishwasher to emphasize his point.

“Right,” she drawled, walking over to the counter and dropping the basket down, looking unconvinced the whole time. “Didn’t realize you’re that terrible at lying.”

“It’s not like that,” he started. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel unwelcome in her own home, especially since she’d gone above and beyond in helping them out.

“I get it. Whatever you two have gotten into is way above my pay grade,” she said. “If you need to play it close to the chest, that’s fine with me. Just give me some idea of what I’m working with here.”

“The most I can tell you is that S.H.I.E.L.D has been compromised.” He said. “Anything else, it’s safer for you not to know.”

“Not for nothing, but you pretty much nixed me being safe the second you knocked on my back door.” She leaned into the counter top, using her hands to brace herself. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to help. I don’t get too many house guests that actually do the dishes when I suggest it. Not even my own brother, who thinks this is his second home or something. Even though his actually place is in Queens.”

“Sam─” He tried to cut in.

“All I’m saying is that I at least deserve to know what or who I should be looking out for in case your visit brings unwanted attention my way.”

He gave a resigned sigh, because she was right. He was pretty certain they hadn’t been followed, but the longer they stayed the more danger they were putting her in. He hadn’t exactly been incognito when he visited her at the VA. All it would take was one person mentioning it on some social media site for anyone retracing his steps in the past few days to look a little harder in her direction.

“How much do you know about Hydra?”

“Seriously? That’s what’s happening here?” She eyed him wearily before shaking her head with a wry chuckle and a shrug of her shoulders. “Alright, so Nazi’s have taken over one of our country’s most important intelligence agencies. I can work with that. Why not? It’s not like my week hasn’t been weird enough already.”

“You’re taking this awfully well,” Natasha said.

“Oh trust me, I’ll be freaking out later.” She pointed to the forgotten basket in front of her. “In the mean time I’ve got a blow dryer and flatiron with your name written all over if you want them. And I’m figuring you guys won’t be leaving ‘till sundown, which means I’ll have to make a grocery run. Because there’s no way I have enough stocked up to handle the appetites in this room.”

“Could you wait until I finish with my hair?” Nat grabbed the basket and looked over the items in it. “There are some supplies I need to grab before we move on.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam looked his way. “That okay with you Steve?”

“I guess.” It was all he could say. Somehow they’d change the direction of the conversation entirely with such ease it left him a little on edge, because the two of them getting along so well wouldn’t bode well for him. He had enough of a time keeping up with Natasha running circles around him, but adding Sam to the mix was just asking for trouble. Natasha threw him a knowing grin as she headed past him towards the hallway, the basket of hair supplies in her hand.

“I like her,” Sam said, an appreciative look on her face as she watched her walk away before turning her attention his way. “So, Rogers… how’s it feel to be on the lam?”

He tilted his head. “It’s not the first time I’ve gone against orders.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure those times didn’t involved you uncovering government conspiracies that made you public enemy number one.” She crossed the room and settled down at the table, using her foot to push out the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. “Do you need to vent? ‘Cause it looks like you need to vent. I’m all ears here.”

“Is this you trying to shrink me?” He asked as he slid in the offered chair, grabbing the bottle of orange juice still sitting on the table and pouring some into a leftover glass.

He had his fill of psychologists not long after they pulled him from the ice before he had to firmly put his foot down. Fury had respected his decision, even though he was quick to let him know it was a stupid one. And as much as he was warming up to her in the short amount of time he’d known her, he wasn’t willing to let her play head doctor. 

Sam smiled. “I’m not a shrink. Just a counselor. And a friend, if you need one. People tell me I’m pretty easy to talk to.”  
  
And she was. That was the problem. If given enough time he could see himself pouring out every sordid detail of not just the past few days, but decades.

The sound of the blow dryer turning on carried into the room. Steve took a sip of juice before slouching down in his chair tiredly. 

“I’ve questioned S.H.I.E.L.D. before,” he said. “Their objective is solid, but the way they go about it at times has always left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“That why you were thinking of getting out?” 

“Part of it.”

The other reason was that he’d been a soldier for the better part of his adult life. It was ingrained in him at this point, something secure and recognizable for him to fall back on after waking up in a time that was as unfamiliar to him as it was familiar with him. He didn’t know who he was anymore outside of the uniform. But the thought of spending the rest of his days going about taking orders until his luck ran out again scared him almost as much as the thought of trying to discover himself in a new world.

And how pitiful would that be to admit? That Steve Rogers, the guy who never backed down from a fight, was terrified of learning how to live again?

No. It had been easier to go through the motions… completing missions here and there, indulging Nat in her quest to broaden his dating horizons, and pretending he was content with it all.

“I put that plane down with the understanding that Hydra would go down with it. I knew it was a one way trip and while I wasn’t exactly okay with dying, at least the sacrifice was worth it. Now it turns out I’ve been working for them this whole time and it’s just…” He trailed off, fingers tightening around the glass in his hand, trying to find the words to explain the disconnect he’d been feeling since Zola’s face popped up on a computer screen and collapsed what little foundation he’d managed to build right from under him.

“It’s a bit of a mind screw, huh?” Sam supplied.

He huffed out a short laugh. “Something like that.”

She looked him over for a moment before leaning back in her chair, threading her fingers together to rest them on her stomach.

“I only joined the Air Force because of Riley.” She said, her gaze going distant. “And the whole time I was over there all I could think about was how much I couldn’t wait to be back home. Don’t get me wrong, I was committed to what I was doing. But I didn’t catch the bug like that idiot did. He almost reveled in the action. Maybe it was because he was enlisted and he didn’t get the reports I did, but I knew we were doing more harm than good in so many ways. Public option was turning on us. The locals didn’t trust us. There was too much useless death, both civilian and friendly. And I was starting to question my superiors way too often, because after a certain point I couldn’t reason why we were even there in the first place. Then Riley was gone and I figured there was no reason for me to stick around. Not when I wasn’t happy.”

It had gone quiet in the bathroom down the hall. Sam sat up straighter in her chair, running her tongue along her bottom lip before clearing her throat.

“What I’m trying to say is I get it. I know what it feels like to look up one day at the destruction around you and lose yourself because you realized how much you’re unwillingly responsible for it. Sometimes, regardless of your intentions, you become the bad guy. So take whatever anger and guilt you’re feeling right now and channel it into something productive, because you don’t have the time to pick it apart and come to terms with it right now. Not when you’ve got a world to save.”

Steve took another sip of his drink before setting the glass down and crossing his arms. She didn’t said anything he hadn’t already been thinking himself. Sometimes you needed to hear it from another person though; just to cement it in your mind. There would be time to sort out what he was feeling later, if they succeeded and lived long enough for to have an after.

“You know, you’re pretty good at the whole talking thing too.”

“Well I’ve always had a mouth on me.” Her grin was self-deprecating. “It took me a long time to figure out how to use it to stop trouble as opposed to getting me in it.”  
  
He wanted to hear about it, he suddenly realized. He wanted to know more about her past and how it shaped her to be the person she was today, so open and giving and able to keep a smile on her face, a stark contrast to the stoic people he'd been surrounded with for too long. He felt like they clicked in a way that he hadn’t been able to find with anyone since coming back, and the pisser of it all was that there was no time to discover why. 

So when Natasha came back with every strand of hair in perfect place and Sam tossed down a file and offered up her service, he couldn’t even bring himself to really talk her out of it. It was half a selfish want to keep her as near as possible and half feeding in to the hunger for action that she’d been trying to hide the moment they crossed over her threshold. 

They blocked out a time table for the next few hours once they figured out a plan of action. When it came time for a food run he opted to stay behind, seeing as how his face was a lot more recognizable to the general public and he was not nearly as adapt at melding in a crowd as Natasha. 

He found himself wondering around Sam’s living room while they were gone, looking over the numerous framed photos hanging on the walls and shoved where they could fit amongst a few knickknacks on her bookshelves. It was easy to glean a cursory history on her life, the photos ranging from childhood to her teen years up until a photo at what had to be her university graduation. It ended there, he noted. There was nothing recent and, aside from the jet images hanging up in the kitchen, there was no evidence of her military service. If it hadn’t been for the USAF sweater she’d been wearing when they met and the general way she carried herself, he never would have guessed she’d served just by looking around her house. 

More importantly there was no presence of Riley in any of the photos. He went over them twice, keeping the image of him from the file in mind. But there was nothing, not even a blurred face in the background that matched a man she obviously had a long history with and cared for deeply.

It was something he didn’t want to think too hard on as he finally settled down on the couch and turned on the TV. Because he knew what it felt like to try to get rid of any reminders of those loses that hurt too damn much. His apartment was void of personal touches for that very reason.   
  
He decided to distract himself by flipping between network and cable news channels, growing increasingly irritated with the misinformation and speculation being spread about him. It didn’t exactly help his growing morose mood, so he eventually got up and went to reheat the breakfast leftovers. 

That was how Natasha and Sam found him when they returned, standing over the coffee table with a plate in one hand and the remote in the other, trying to find something mind numbing enough to watch that didn’t involved strangers getting everything wrong about his supposedly face-heel turn. 

They both acknowledged him with a cursory glance, arms weighed down with plastic bags.

“You’re back,” he stated the obvious around a mouthful of sausage. He placed the food down and hastily swallowed. “Here, let me help out with those.”

They let him grab the majority of the bags and followed him to the kitchen. Sam started unloading, picking out the things that needed to go in the fridge immediately from where the groceries rested on the floor. 

He stood in the middle of the room watching as Natasha started pulling out canned goods and opening up cabinets to place them in as if it where her own house. Sam didn’t even bat an eye over the other woman’s familiarity with her kitchen, which meant he hadn’t been wrong earlier to be disturbed by how easily they were getting along. 

“Is there anything else in the car to bring in?” 

“Nothing that can’t wait until later,” Natasha said. She’d changed outfits since leaving, and he was able to get a quick glimpse of a pistol peaking out between the waistband of her jeans and her jacket ridding up as she bent over to grab one of the bags. “I’ve got clothes for you.” 

He took them with quiet thanks just as Sam kicked the fridge door closed and started gathering up the empty bags.

“She knows your measurements, Steve. Is that something all your friends keep in their mental records?” 

“No,” he frowned, cutting his eyes at Nat, who had pulled a phone out of her pocket.

“It wasn’t that hard to guess,” she muttered, focused on whatever she was looking up on the screen. “He’s practically shaped like a triangle.”

Sam laughed and Steve looked between the two of them, not feeling the least bit affronted.

_This could work_ , he thought. He was the reason they’d been brought together, but it looked like they were doing just fine forging a camaraderie of their own. Sam, for the most part, was an open book compared to Natasha’s carefully crafted transparency. Under different circumstances he wasn’t sure they would have ever found a common enough ground be able to throw teasing barbs at his expense. It might not last longer than it took for them to get out of the cross hairs, but dire situations had an amazing ability of bringing people together. Eventually their personalities would start rubbing the wrong way, but their schedule was pinched enough he didn’t see it happening too soon.

Yes, it could work. It _had_ to. Because like Sam said, he had to save the world. And they were the only people on his side to help him do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know where this story is going. Sort of. And it feels like it’s going to be a lot longer than what I originally planned, because I can’t keep things sort and simple to save my life. So bare with me.  
> I’m a bit iffy with parts of this chapter but if I look at it any longer I’ll just delete most of it and end up with only a few pages of text and pissed at myself. Un-beta’d still, so let me know about any glaring errors. I’ll try to fix them as I find them.  
> Also, thanks for the feedback/reviews


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had hoped her mother wouldn’t notice the money she’d transferred to her account in the wee hours of the morning until much later, but her phone rang right as Natasha was shoving Sitwell into the back seat of her Ford and Steve was helping her unbuckled her pack.

She fished her phone out of her pocket just as the last strap was undone and he lifted her wings effortlessly off her shoulders and into the trunk.

“Crap,” she muttered under her breath as she saw the name on the caller id. Steve raised his brows in question.

“Hey ma,” she answered, forcing enthusiasm where she didn’t feel it. “What’s up?”

“ _Why is there $500 extra dollars in my bank account?_ ”  
  
They both winced at the tone and level of her voice. It meant she’d bypassed curious and gone straight to interrogation mode. No hello, no how’s my girl doing? Right to the point.  
  
Steve, as if sensing this wasn’t something he need to be apart of, shut the trunk. “I’ll give you a moment.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, watching as he headed for the passenger door and slid in. What was it about mothers on a mission that could have someone like freaking Captain America tucking tail and running?

“ _Who was that?_ ”

“Nobody, just a friend.” She sighed.  
  
“ _Are you going to explain what that deposit is about? Because unless you’ve been playing the numbers, I know you don’t make the kind of money to give it away like that_.”

“It’s just in case money, ma.” As the words feel off her lips she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“ _Just in case? Just in case_ what _, Samantha? Are you in trouble_?”

Not yet. But she was getting there. The whole stealing of government property thing was sure to come back to bite her on the ass. She was banking on Steve to help her dodge god only knew how many federal charges they were racking up by the hour, because teaming up with him had to come with some kind of perks. She knew better then to mention that or the fact she might be on trial for treason in the near future.

“I’m fine. It’s just that I’m helping some friends out and well…” She licked her lips. “You know how I am, ma. I might be getting ready to do something a little reckless.”

The other end of the line went silent and Sam held her breathe, waiting for her to reign in her disbelief enough to start speaking again. Her mother wasn’t a fan of yelling to get her point across, and almost 30 years was enough time to know that Sam didn’t respond well to it anyway. Natasha popped her head out of the backseat window, lifting her arms to point at an imaginary watch on her wrist. Sam got the not so subtle hint.

“Listen, I know nothing I can say will make you not worry. Just know that what I’m doing is important. Saving lives important.”

“ _I don’t like this, Samantha. The last time you talked like that you signed your life over_.”

“But I came back,” she responded, not liking the petulant quality her voice had taken, but damn her mother had a way of bringing it out in her like no one else could.

“ _With Riley in a casket and your mind all scrambled!_ ”

Actually there hadn’t been enough of him left to go in a casket, but she was pretty sure pointing that out wouldn’t help at all.

Natasha was giving her an impatient look and Sam turned her back to her, feeling a slight headache coming on. The endorphins from her brief flight were wearing off all too soon and the reality of what they were doing was starting to sink in. She didn’t have time to placate her mother, as much as it pained her. She worried about her, more so then her siblings. Mostly because she had an uncanny ability of stumbling into crazy situations and was too much of a bleeding heart to leave well enough alone.

“Ma, I gotta go.”  
  
“ _Don’t you dare. Don’t you hang-up on me Samantha Wilson, or I swear on your father’s grave I’ll take that money and fly down there and drag you by the ear out of whatever danger you’ve gotten yourself into_.”  
  
She wouldn’t put it past her. With any luck she’d be alive and not in cuffs at the end of all this to face her mother’s wrath.  
  
“I’ll call back as soon as I get a chance.” She swallowed around a lump in her throat, wanting to let her know that she would be careful and not do anything stupid. But she didn’t want to lie, since for all she knew this could be their last conversation together. “I love you.”  
  
She swiped the End Call button on her screen before she lost her nerve, turning it off for good measure because she would only keep calling back and she couldn’t afford to be distracted.  
  
Setting her jaw she headed for the car, sliding in the driver’s seat and reaching for the keys already in the ignition to turn the engine over. Steve gave her a worried look.

“Everything alright?”  
  
She nodded before turning to look over her shoulder while backing her car out of the alley they’d been parked in, scowling right back at Sitwell when they caught eyes.

“Where to now, kids?”

“The Triskelion,” Nat said and Sam wrinkled her nose, thinking about the looming eyesore that dominated the downtown DC sky line, towering over every other building because somehow S.H.I.E.L.D. was above the law when it came to how many floors their headquarters were allowed to have. An intelligence agency bold enough to announced their presence to the world with that architectural monstrosity must have the market cornered on security. It was like a giant middle finger to anyone who would be brainless enough to try to take it down, which didn’t bode well for them seeing as how they were on the way to break in.

She merged with the afternoon traffic onto the expressway, listening as Steve and Natasha went back and forth with a plan, thinking to herself there was no way it was going to be as easy as dragging Sitwell up to S.H.I.E.L.D’s back door and hoping he cooperated nicely and long enough for them to ruin Hydra’s big coup de grace.  
  
Just as the thought crossed her mind and Sitwell was unknowingly voicing it, all hell broke loose.

It happened so fast. On second she was about to tell the guy to shut the hell up again, because she really didn’t feel comfortable agreeing with a Hydra agent even if what he was saying made sense, when there was a thump on the roof of her car and he went flying out of the window.

It wasn’t until the bullets started flying and Natasha was crawling into the front seat, saving her from a headshot with a kick of her foot and Steve shoved the gear shift into park that she got a good look at what had caused utter chaos to erupt around them.  
  
She was pretty sure all of them were struck dumbfounded. The getup and mask alone were enough to cause her mouth to dry up, but seeing the groves the metal arm left in the asphalt was enough to make her heart seize for just a moment before it caught frantic rhythm again. Whoever he was, he was screamed walking death sentence and Sam really didn’t want to be around to see what he had in store for them.

Natasha snapped out of her shock quicker then they did, raising her gun and aiming at him just as they got hit from behind. The sudden jerk forward caused her molars to sink into the side of her tongue. She bit back another curse at the sharp pain as she stomped her foot on the brakes and swallowed, tasting a bit of blood.

Natasha searched blindly around the floorboard for her dropped weapon and she tried to keep the car on the road as the Humvee behind them did it’s best to force her trunk in to the backseat. She worried briefly about her wings just as the asshole jumped on the roof again and ripped her steering wheel right out of her hands and through the windshield.

That─ that shouldn’t have been possible. In fact none of what was happening should have been possible in broad daylight with plenty of witnesses around. But it seemed that Steve was high of enough threat for Hydra to send whoever these guys were to eliminate him. Even if it meant dozens of people were probably filming what was happening right now and many more were going to become casualties.

Natasha managed to get off a few shots before the car began to careen out of control. Sam figured that was it. They were going too fast and there was no way to stop. Her brakes had just about crapped out and she wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt. She had a good run, considering the amount of times she’d faced her own mortality before. It just sucked that it was going to be so painfully messy and it was all for nothing. Because there would be no one left to stop Insight from happening, and by the time anyone else put together the truth… well Sitwell had made it very obvious how thoroughly any opposition would be dealt with.  
  
But Steve, bless him, hauled the three of them out just in time, throwing their combine weight against the door and using it to keep them from eating pavement.

She rolled, feeling gravel bite into her skin before getting her bearings, pushing to her feet and scrambling for cover just as the men from the Humvee filed out and opened fire.

There was a moment during the clash as Steve went flying over the edge of the bridge and Natasha went jumping not too soon after ─ because of course the guy with the arm had a fucking grenade launcher ─ that she wondered what the hell she was even doing there.

She was out numbered, outgunned and alone with nothing but someone’s abandoned sedan for protection. She wasn’t souped-up like Steve, nor did she have whatever extreme training Natasha had. There was a sheathed blade clipped to her jeans and even if the EXO pack survived intact in the scattered wreckage of what had been her car, it was yards away and there was no time to hunt for it.

Closing her eyes, she crouched further down, trying to drown out the panicked screams of people trying to get out of dodge. It had been years since she’d been over in the sandbox, but it was startling easy to draw on the experience, despite the mental hill she had to climb to get to a place where she wasn’t always in battle mode after hanging up her uniform. It didn’t take much, considering the sound of bullets pinging off of metal and cement was still echoing in her ears. It was familiar. It was combat. And she wasn’t so indoctrinated back in civilian life that she was going to allow herself to freeze up and leave the two of them on their own. She might not measure up much when compared to their experience and skill, but she had enough to at least provide some kind of backup.

Sucking in a breath, she peeked around the trunk of the car, catching sight of the men just as they started roping down the side of the bridge. There was a second of alarm where she thought she’d taken too long to collect herself before she saw the one straggler. It was a stoke of luck that she didn’t even question as she snuck up behind him, her knife in hand and her mind intent on the riffle hanging off his shoulder.

She took him by surprise, kicking him in the knee from behind and swinging up with the knife to cut the strap on his gun. Another solid foot to the sternum sent him falling over the side of the bridge and she almost felt bad about it. But there was no time to reflect on it because Steve needed cover fire.  
  
She took controlled shots, ducking down when needed until he was clear. When she took a look over the wall again Steve had taken down the men she hadn’t been able to get with an impressive array of gymnastics. Sam looked around frantically, because the guy with the arm was still on the prowl somewhere and not having a visual on him scared her.

It didn’t take long to figure out the general direction he’d gone. All she had to do was follow the explosions. She spotted him just as he tossed Natasha off his shoulders and flinched as the other woman’s fall was broken by a sports car. It had to hurt like hell but she recovered quickly, flinging something at the metal arm that caused it to drop like dead weight, giving her enough time to scurry off.

Sam raised the gun, looking down the sight and quickly calculated she was too far away to take the shot, even if she did had a good bead on him. Dropping her shoulders in disgusted frustration, she looked over at the ropes dangling over the edge, knowing they weren’t a possible option to get her down there. She had nothing to clip on to and even thinking about going down without gloves made her hands twinge with imaginary pain.

Glancing back at the street below she saw Steve running full force for the man just as he was aiming for where she could only assume Nat had taken cover. The sound of his metal fist hitting Steve’s shield was almost as loud as the bullets that were soon ricocheting off it. She watched for a few seconds too long, morbidly fascinated at seeing Steve barely holding his own against him.

“Who the hell is this guy?”

There was no one there to answer and she had to tear her gaze away because watching them duck and weave around each other with such brutal force was hypnotic. Pulling herself up from the crouch she’d been in, she griped the gun tighter in her hands and went for what was left of her car.  
  
She zigzagged around the abandoned cars until she came upon the wreck, heaving out a sigh of relief to see that the rear end hadn’t been completely destroyed. In fact she didn’t even have to worry about finding something to pry the trunk open because the lock hadn’t withstood the ramming it took. She had to put a bit of muscle in to getting the twisted metal to lift up more, but once it gave she saw that her EXO pack was no worse for wear. Hauling it out, she gave it a quick look over, wishing she had more time to make sure there wasn’t any damage, before strapping up. The wings expanded and retracted like they were supposed to, albeit with a millisecond of hesitation that only someone thoroughly familiar with them would have noticed. They would need servicing after all was said and done, but she’d flown them plenty with worst damage. And the boosters worked just fine, getting her a few inches off the ground when she fired them up experimentally.  
  
She abandoned the riffle in the remains of her trunk; there was no way she could pilot her wings and handle firing it at the same time. Making her way back to the side of the bridge, she looked down to see Steve still engaged. Natasha was out of her line of sight, and the fact that she wasn’t helping him concerned her. Sam had only known her for a few hours but it had been easy enough to figure out that she wasn’t one to give up the fight. Best case scenario: she was injured, bad enough to lay low. Worst case… Sam was determined not to even put the thought into the universe.

Backing up a few feet, she squared her jaw before running for the edge, using her forward momentum to hurdler herself over the concrete wall, feeling gravity pulling at her gut just as she deployed the wings and hit the thrusters. She flew up, gaining a bit of elevation so she could get a good look at the scene.

The still smoldering car fires were making her visibility just on the right side of crap as she flew farther down before looping around and started her search for Nat. But she was at least able to tell that most of the bystanders had cleared out. Hydra wasn’t pulling any punches with their bold attack, and Sam could only hope that no one had died while getting caught in the melee.

A quick glance at Steve was enough to see that he was gaining the upper hand, which was a relief because Sam knew she would be utterly useless if she had to tap in. A flash of red caught her attention and she finally spotted Natasha just as she looked up her way. She was moving slow, nursing her left shoulder and Sam had been right about her being hurt. She had to admire and both wonder how she was still standing, considering less then a day ago she _literally_ had a bomb dropped on her. She was just about to swoop down and help her, blinking rapidly and really lamenting the fact she hadn’t grabbed her goggles, when the sound of the fight going on a few yards away came to a standstill. The sudden quiet had both of their attention snatched in their direction.

Steve had his shield lowered and his already pale skin was drained of color. Sam saw his mouth move, though she was too far away with too much wind in her ears to make out what he said. Whatever it was it had the other guy hesitating. That was surprising, because so far everything he’d done had been methodical, almost robotic. Nothing seemed to faze him.

But then he raised his gun again and Steve, the _idiot_ , wasn’t even moving. He was just standing there, guard wide open and not even looking as if he was able to blink, let alone get the hell out of the way. Whatever he saw had shocked him frozen. Sam knew the serum made him capable of doing a lot of things, but it sure as shit didn’t give him bullet dodging abilities and she was even more sure there would be no super healing a hole in the head.  
  
Instinct kicked in, something that was honed from years of covering Riley’s behind way before they even joined the Air Force because he had a penchant for almost dying. Diving down at a dangerous speed for such a short distance, she spread open her wings enough to slow her decent and make sure she didn’t break her legs as she allowed inertia to move her lower body foreword in time to nail him in the back of the head.

And damn, the guy was good. He took the unexpected kick with the most amount of grace he could, rolling over when he met the ground instead of hitting it flat like a regular person would, only to pop back up just as quickly.  
  
She landed in a run to keep her feet under before turning his way, expecting some form of retaliation. He didn’t so much as spare her a glance and Sam watched with dawning terror as he aimed at Steve again. She didn’t have the element of surprise on her side this time, nor was she fast enough to get close and distract him again. And Steve still hadn’t moved an inch.  
  
But then Natasha appeared from behind a car with the grenade launcher in hand. She barely had enough time to duck, using her wings to deflect any incoming debris when she fired and a truck near to them went up in a ball of flames. By the time she felt it was safe to stand again, the guy with the arm was gone and they were being surrounded by more men with guns.

Knowing the game was up she raised her hands, wincing as they not so gently yanked her pack off and cuffed her before patting her down. The chopper hovering above them was probably the only thing keeping them from being shot on site, but it was a hollow victory. As they loaded the three of them into the back of an armored tuck, it was pretty much a given that they were just going to find some place less public to do the deed so it wouldn’t end up on the 5 o’clock news.  
  
Her mother was going to kill her. She was going to resurrect her long enough to give her the ream out of all reamings before putting her back six feet under.

Sam shifted on the uncomfortable metal bench, eyeing the helmeted guards that looked like they were a Badazzler away from cosplaying Daft Punk. They were all shackled to the floor of the truck, pretty much ruling out any escape attempt she could think of, but Sam had to at least see if they could do something to get out of the mess they’d found themselves in. Being taken out execution style by Hydra was just an affront to her pride.

Steve hadn’t said a single word since they were herded in, his gaze locked on the forearm cuffs that were obviously tailored specifically for him. Sam was just as concerned for him as she was for Nat, whose skin was starting to take on a dangerous pallor. Something happened down on that street that drained the fight out of him and had him spiraling down to some place that even his friend bleeding out across from him and the threat of eminent death wasn’t registering.

“Hey Cap,” she said, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him. “You alright over there?”

There was no answer forthcoming. She watched him, chewing on her bottom lip and wondering what the hell was going on in his head. The sudden weight of Natasha leaning heavily against her side drew her attention away momentarily.

“Not you too. Steve’s gone mute on us and I’d really like to have someone to talk to before we all get dead. The two Slabs over there don’t seem promising, so don’t go passing out on me,” she urged, bodily jostling Natasha when she saw her lids drooping.  
  
“I’m still with you,” she replied in a gravelly voice, blinking sluggishly but thankfully appearing more alert. “Just resting my eyes a bit.”  
  
“Right,” Sam said sardonically, barely able to not roll her eyes. “Come on Steve, you gotta give me something here. Nat’s not looking so hot.”  
  
“You weren’t thinking that they day we met.”  
  
Sam huffed. “Yeah, well you also had several more ounces of blood pumping through your veins and a sweet ride. I might as well have been wearing beer goggles.”  
  
That earned her a weary smirk, though her attempt at levity fell flat with Steve. She glanced at the guards again before leaning forward as much as she could in her restraints. 

“Damn it Rodgers! I know you can hear me, so just say _something_ because I’m pretty sure we’re all about to die and I swear to god if I go without getting one of those famous Star Spangled Man with a Plan speeches, I’m haunting your ass in whatever afterlife we end up in.”  
  
He looked up finally; his eyes holding a sheen that Sam could swear were unshed tears. The abject despair coming off of him in waves was enough to make her sit back.

“Steve─” she started, licking her lips. “What happened out there. What made you choke?” 

“The man with the metal arm.” He took in a shuddering breath, his gaze unfocused. “It was Bucky.”  
  
She blinked, not sure if she heard him right. There was no way. Steve coming back the way he did was a one in a million shot that only happened because of mad science.

“As in _Bucky Barnes_?” Her disbelief read clear.

He nodded, his head dropping again. 

“I couldn’t have been him, Steve.” Sam said evenly, wondering if it was one too many hits to the head that had him all messed up.

“His mask came off.” Even with his head down, she could see him clinching his jaw tightly between words. “It was him.”  
  
And once he explained, it made sense. A fucked up kind of sense that had her heart breaking for him, because if the roles were reversed and it had been Riley trying his best to end her after years of thinking he was dead…

The implications of it all were too much to handle. She didn’t understand how Steve wasn’t a blubbering mess, knowing that he was alive this whole time; knowing that he was in the hands of the very people that they’d both ‘died’ to defeat a lifetime ago. And somehow, through the hell of what that must have put him through, they’d turned him into a weapon that didn’t even recognize his best friend’s face.

She struggled to find something to say, something to condole him but everything she came up with just sounded weak in her head. What _could_ anyone say when faced with a revelation like that? It was so far out of the realm of her experiences ─hell, out of the realm of reality really─ that she figured it was best to keep her mouth shut.

It was a moot attempt anyway. Steve was back in his head again, stewing in his grief. And Natasha’s gunshot wound wasn’t getting any better, bleeding out enough that the metallic smell started to overpower the bitter stench of singed fiberglass and metal clinging to them.

It was something she could work with, something to take her mind of the fact that this was their last ride, even if she knew appealing to their captors was pretty much useless seeing as how the plan was to kill them anyway.  
  
She had to fight a flinch when one of the guards pulled out some type of high powered cattle prod and charged it up, but when they turned it on their silent partner she couldn’t help but shrink back in her seat.  
  
She hadn’t been expecting a rescue but she welcomed it wholeheartedly, giving the new face an introduction before she pulled out a phone and called in a quick traffic jam before removing their restraints.  
  
“We’re going to have to use the sewers for a bit,” Agent Hill said as she shucked off her gloves and vest. “Are you going to be okay to move, Romanoff?”  
  
“I’m alright,” she answered, even as Sam frowned over her while using the gauze Hill handed her to put pressure on her shoulder. Her free hand was pressing two fingers to the side of her neck, trying to guess how many seconds were going by while counting her pulse. She’d given up wearing a watch long ago simple because the weight of it on her wrist brought her back to the desert, so she wasn’t sure how accurate her tally was.  
  
“The sooner she gets a doc the better,” Sam sighed, pulling back and trying to get a good look at her pupils in the poor lighting of the truck. “She really shouldn’t be on her feet though. She’s loosing a lot of blood.”  
  
“I can carry her,” Steve said, purpose reading clearly on his face now that their immediate future wasn’t hopeless, though there was still a barely concealed tenseness to his entire person.  
  
“Stop talking as if ‘she’ can’t hear you,” Natasha gritted out as she sat up straighter and pried Sam’s hand off her wound, peering under the soiled bandage before tossing it to the floor and reaching for fresh one from the plastic bag resting between them. “And I’m good to walk on my own.” 

“Yeah, I’m thinking he has the right idea.” Sam insisted, but the scathing look the other woman threw her way had her holding up her hands. 

“Fine, pass out for all I care. It’s not like I’m the one with the most medical training in here, which means I know what I’m talking about. It’s not like you moving around too much is going to keep your blood inside, where it freaking belongs.”  
  
The truck came to a sudden stop, the sound of several car horns being hit by agitated drivers going filling the air.

“That’s our cue.” Hill said, pulling some sort of tool out of her cargo pants. “We’ve got to move fast.”  
  
With a twist of her wrist the end of the metal stick lit up with something that was half flame, half laser. Sam wasn’t entirely sure what it was but it looked dangerous and she instinctively moved her feet out of the way when Hill bent over and used it to start cutting through the floor of the truck. 

When she was done she turned the torch off and Steve lifted his foot, bringing it down hard enough force the cut hole out onto what should have been the ground, except the torch had cut through the street underneath them too.  
  
Sam let out a low whistle as she peered down, trying to gauge how far their jump would be into the tunnel below. “Man, who the hell develops your tech?”  
  
“That’s classified,” Hill deadpanned, but she noted the corner of her lips twitch as if she was holding back a smile. “Captain, you first. Then Romanoff. I’ll follow behind Wilson. And watch those edges, they’re still hot.”

Steve grabbed the discarded tact vest and draped it over the lip of the hole, pausing long enough to take the flashlight Hill held out for him before bracing himself on his haunches and slipping through. 

Sam moved to assist Natasha, who didn’t fight her this time, her teeth clinching when she had to use both arms to climb down. She watched as she disappeared below, seeing Steve catch her mid fall and support her against his side once her feet were one the ground, the flashlight casting a weird glow around them.  
  
She started after them, one arm holding on to the bench seat and the other on the vest, ready to make her jump when a thought occurred to her. 

“What about our gear?” she asked, remembering seeing them stuff her EXO pack in the back of a cop car along with Steve’s shield.  
  
“It’s being taken care of.” Hill assured her.

Sam nodded once, trusting her to be telling the truth as she made her escape. Because while it would suck to have her wings ripped away from her once again so soon after getting them back, she lived through it once and would get through it again. Steve’s shield was another matter.  
  
She landed with a splash, her tennis shoes and the bottom of her jeans quickly being soaked through with chilly water that didn’t exactly smell too great, even through she figured it was only street runoff. Unbending her knees, she straightened up and moved out the way just as Hill dropped down.

“You holding up, Natasha,” she asked as pulled out her phone.  
  
The other woman nodded even as she leaned heavily against Steve, who had an arm slung around her. Sam didn’t like the sheen of sweat on her face, especially considering the tunnel they were in was considerably cooler then the temp outside.  
  
“We’re clear,” Hill said once she connected her call. “ETA to the rendezvous is three minutes.”  
  
She pocketed her cell and pulled out another sterile package of pressure bandages, tossing it Sam’s way.  
  
“Keep an eye on her.” She tilted her head in Steve’s direction. “We don’t have time to stop so pick her up if you have to.”  
  
And with that she grabbed the flashlight from him and started off down the tunnel in a clipped jog, splashing water in her wake.  
  
“Yeah, I’m not going to be able to keep up that pace,” Nat said with a resigned sigh. Steve scooped her up bridle style with no comment and little effort, following after Hill with Sam trailing a few feet behind them.

Later, once they made it to the unused dam doubling as a safe house were they met up with the previously thought dead S.H.I.E.L.D. director, she asked for directions to the nearest bathroom, seeking an excuse to get out of the room that was starting to feel too close.  
  
The reunion with Fury was something personal between them. She didn’t know the guy so his resurrection wasn’t something that really affected her and, judging by Natasha’s pursed lips that had nothing to do with the doctor patching her up and Steve standing stiff as a board with his fists clenched at his sides, there were some words that needed to be shared and grievances aired out. Besides, she was starting to feel a bit funny, her stomach turning sluggishly and her skin pebbling with goose bumps.  
  
She didn’t miss the concerned look Steve gave her as she walked out, which probably meant she wasn’t hiding her discomfort as well as she thought. Booking it down the concrete hallway, she made it to a toilet stall just in time, her mouth filling up with salty saliva before the water she’d chugged upon their arrival and what was left of her drive thru breakfast made a reappearance.

She stood up rubbery legs, using the side of the stall wall steady herself before flushing, making an effort not to look at the mess she’d made least she start drive heaving.

The shakes would come next. She knew the science behind it; her body was coming down from the epinephrine high the fight on the bridge had flooded her system with. The same thing happened after her first combat jump, which had her throwing up out of the open side of the helicopter that was taking them back to the FOB. Riley had laughed at her even as he held on to the back of her Kevlar so she didn’t bodily fall out, since she was shuddering too bad to do it herself. It was the only time it happened, up until now.

Eventually she got used to the rushes, and after awhile things like seeing the torn camo from where a bullet had ricocheted off her helmet was less of a cause for alarm and more like an inconvenience because she’d have to pay out of pocket to replace it. Humans were amazingly adaptable species, to the point where they’d become cynical to even almost getting killed if it happened often enough. Though Riley would bemoan the “god damn adrenaline dick” as he’d so eloquently describe the unwanted erections he would always get after seeing any action.

But it had been some years since being shot at was just another Tuesday, and her body was definitely letting it be known that the only battle stress it was used to dealing with now was the kind that came from navigating DC traffic.

She headed for the sink, cupping her tremoring hands together so she could rinse out her mouth. The freezing water didn’t help the chill that had settled under her skin since their trek through the sewers and she belated realized her favorite leather jacket was still with her car. Along with her house keys and wallet.

There was nothing to be done about it now. She gurgled a few times before the acidic taste left her mouth and turned off the water, wincing at her reflection as she reached for some paper towels. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were bags starting to form under them. She hadn’t gotten more then a few snatched hours of troubled sleep since Steve showed up at her back door, and they’d been going none stop since heading out three hours before dawn to break in to Fort Meade.  
  
She needed to eat and get some proper rest, but there was only time for the former and she wasn’t even sure her stomach was settled enough to handle that. Caffeine would take care of both problems though, and that was something always in abundance around military types.

She wiped her hands and used the damp towels clean the soot and dried sweat off her face. When she’d done the best she could she tossed them and turned for the door, feeling a bit more put together and ready to tackle whatever was going to be thrown at her next, shakes and all.

Steve was waiting for her in the hallway when she emerged with a pile of folded clothes in hand.

“Hey man, those for me?”

He nodded, “I noticed you shivering before you left. Figured you’d want to get out of those wet jeans.”

“Thanks.” She grabbing the hoodie off the top of the pile and pulling it on, zipping it up to her neck.

“Never could seem to get warm after I got back,” she muttered as she took the rest of the clothes from him, pausing to check the tag of the pants to make sure they’d fit. “They fly you in to Kuwait at night, some kind of running joke with the guys in charge so you aren’t prepared for just how hot it really gets. It averaged around 90-95 degrees when the sun was down, which was bad enough. But during the day that mercury would start rising and you’d literally fell like you were being slow roasted. I’d sweat so bad the salt would start bleaching my blouses.”

She shook her head with a chuckle. “Afghanistan wasn’t any better. But you get used to it, after awhile. So during my first leave I’m running around Harlem, middle of the summer mind you, in long sleeves. Starting a lot of arguments with my folks because I kept messing with the thermostat.”  
  
Steve crossed his arms but didn’t respond. The little wrinkle between his brows was furrowed and he looked like he had something to say but wasn’t sure how it would be received.

“What’s on your mind,” Sam asked.

“Maria’s got a plan to take down the Helicarriers.”

“Okay,” Sam tilted her head in confusion. “That’s a good thing, right? I’m not seeing why you’re brooding so much right now.”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “You don’t have to go in on this. It was my mess to begin with and I shouldn’t have dragged you into it. You have a life here. A family that cares about you─”

“Is this…” Sam cut him off, hackles rising because she had a good idea where this conversation was going. She was already feeling a bit wanting and the last thing she needed was anyone, especially him, trying to bench her in some misguided attempt to keep her safe. She wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but she could hold her own and she definitely wasn't going to sit back and do nothing while those yahoos tried to burn the world. “This sounds like a breakup talk, Steve. Are you kicking me off the team?”

“No!” he sputtered. “You got sick, Sam. I could hear you throwing up from out here.”

“So I had to decompress a little. I’m perfectly fine now.”

“Are you?” he asked in all seriousness. “You got out for a reason. Maybe you’re jumping back into things to quickly and I can’t ask you to keep going if it makes you feel like _that_.”  
  
That was rich coming from a man that didn't know what it meant not to be in a fight.

“Well it’s a good thing you’re not my boss or CO, so I’ll do whatever the hell I please.”

“I’m just trying to give you an out.”

She let out an annoyed grunt, folding her own arms defensively across her chest. “No, what you’re doing is freaking out because you supposedly saw your dead friend back there, the one you couldn’t save, so now you’re projecting your feelings on to me in an attempt to alleviate your guilt.”

He recoiled back as if she’d struck him and her anger instantly drained out of her.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” She winced. “That was… that didn’t come out at all like it should have.”

He was silent for a long moment.  
  
“You’re probably right," he said finally, dropping his arms.

His contriteness certainly wasn’t making her feel any better.

“No Steve, I’m an asshole. I’m feeling insecure because it _has_ been a long time since I had to deal with anything that crazy and I took it out on you.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said. “You held your own on that bridge. You saved my life.”

“Well someone has to look after you. You’re terrible at watching your own back.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.” He frowned, eyes going a bit distant.

“Hurry and change,” he ordered, starting to turn away. Sam didn't miss the hard, business edge to his voice, something he hadn't used with her before. She'd really screwed up. “We’ve got work to do.”

She watched him go, wanting to kick herself at the slump off his shoulders. She was responsible for that, and she could blame her behavior on exhaustion and her feelings of inadequacy, but there had been no excuse to throw his pain in his face. He hadn’t deserved it. And she felt like the worlds biggest dick because of it.

She turned back to the bathroom, cursing under her breath as she pushed open the door angrily to get changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter got way out of hand and I definitely went past my average word count which is why it took so long to post. There might be more POV changes next chapter, which will be after the big battle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this chap contains a lot of filler. Or maybe not. I’m probably just thinking about it to hard. Either way, I’ve changed my mind about the multi-POV thing. It’s a bit of a challenge to keep it going with one POV throughout an entire chapter so I think I’ll be sticking with that because it’s damn good practice. We get Sam again because Steve was out of commission after the helicarrier crash and Buck hasn’t been introduced yet.  
> Also, just a general disclaimer: I’m not military in the slightest so forgive me if a get some things wrong. Google only takes you so far and none of my enlisted friends are Air Force. So I’m sort of winging Sam’s military background.

Sam would be the first to admit that she had a hard time keeping her feet on the ground. Ever since she was a kid she’d been afflicted with wanderlust and little regard for the risk her adventures could get her into. 

But she also had a pretty good grasp on the whole patience thing too. 

It was probably bred into her, what with practically living at the family church and years of dealing with the terror twins that were her younger brother and sister. The ability came in handy when she served because the most consistent thing about the military was that there was an awful lot of rushing just to end up having to wait. 

And knowing that it was useful when she worked with other vets was a given. Recovery was a long, raw process that didn’t come with a timetable. People didn’t like hearing it was a lifetime kind of deal, that there was no set number of therapy sessions where they’d spill their guts and the world would be set back to rights. There were no fixing things really. No magic cure. But it could get better, with commitment and a whole lot of taking it day by day. Sam had found, once she stopped running from the hurt in her and actually listened long enough to the people trying to help her help herself, that patience probably saved her more than anything. It only seemed right to use it the aid others. 

Working at the VA could be taxing at the best of times and her tolerance level had to be close to that of sainthood. It wasn’t bragging or arrogance that allowed her to say it with confidence. _Anyone_ that had to deal with the bureaucratic red tape bullshit she got on a daily basis without a least once thinking about going postal deserved to pat their own back. Once she had that in control, counseling was almost a breeze. 

So yeah, she had patience pouring out of her ears. 

Hospitals though, they got to her. 

It didn’t always used be that way. She spent enough time in and out of emergency rooms growing up (getting fixed up after whatever dumb thing she’d done to hurt herself, and later sitting with her parents when her brother took up the accident magnet mantle) that it was no worse than a trip to her regular physician. Though it usually came with better pain drugs. 

But then her father died in surgery while she sat in an ER waiting room terrified, a church member gently trying to urge her to go wash up ( _“Honey your mother will here any minute and you don’t want her to see you like this._ ”) because her hands were covered in blood from where she’d tried to stop it from flowing. 

It was the gut winching uselessness that made the waiting part infinitely worse. She always wondered if she could have done more once they’d gotten to the hospital. If maybe she had been in the operating room with him, talking to him, reminding him of all the reasons he had to hold on, then maybe he would have survived. 

She’d done her best to help him before the ambulance showed up, and she’d known it was a silly thought even as it went through her head. But he’d _always_ listened to her, even when teenaged rebellion got the best of her. He would hear her out, never judgmental but there to talk sense into her the way her mother never could. Even in her worst of times, even if she’d completely shown her behind, he knew when her stance was right. It didn’t mean there weren’t repercussions, because Paul Wilson could be stern to a fault, right or wrong. But he’d also been understanding because everyone deserved a chance to him. 

And she’d thought if she’d had the opportunity, even if it was just a minute to tell him why he needed to hang on, then he would have. She would have been able to stress that so many people loved him. And he would have understood that they needed him. That she wouldn’t know what to do without him.  
  
It didn’t matter anyway. His altruism had gotten him killed and the druggy that shot him over funds they didn’t even keep in the church because Harlem was still Harlem (the same guy that came around looking for work that her dad didn’t turn away because he never did) was only found because he ended up dying from an overdose a few weeks later. And she quickly learned that some people weren’t worth the effort. 

Which was funny (in that I’m only laughing because if I don’t I might crack up kind of way) because she’d warned Steve about the weapon he’d put a name to and look where trying to save him got him. 

She was in a bad way, head wise. The similarities were a little too much for her and it didn’t help that she was parked in a chair just as uncomfortable as the one she’d sat in when the doctor gave her the bad news years ago. A part of her knew she should get up and take a walk. Find somewhere quiet where she could try to piece together the muddled emotions going through her. Steve would be fine, even if he’d been on the brink of death when she and Natasha finally spotted him on the bank of the Potomac. He had science’s magic serum running through his veins. If he could survive decades on ice then he’d be able bounce back from this. He had to. 

Except she had blood on her hands again. His blood. 

It was bad enough hearing the fight over her comms, even as she was trying to hold her own against Rumlow. Even as she jumped out a god damn window. Seeing the condition he’d been in once she and Nat rappelled down to check on him─ well if she hadn’t been so busy trying to cut away at his uniform to slap patches of HemCon on his various gunshot wounds (and thank god the first aid on that helo was better stocked than some military crafts) she would have impressed even herself with the litany of curses she had running through her head.  
  
It wasn’t until now, once she was able to be still and properly think that she realized how angry she was. Because he’d let it happen. He’d taken one hell of a beating, trying to talk down someone that had gone from machine to rabid animal with a few placed words. 

And for what? To prove a point? To prove to himself that there was still something of the man he once knew in there?  
  
There was wild hope and then there was giving up. Steve, who didn’t know what made him happy… who was just reunited with his long-thought-dead best friend… _who still might die_ … was ridding the edge between both with a conviction that concerned the hell out of her. The guy needed saving from himself in the worst way. 

And she needed to find the nurse she’d brushed off early in her worry because she was starting to hurt.  
  
She shifted in her seat, winching as her back protested the movement. Just about everything was throbbing with a not so dull ache, but her shoulder was the worst. Catching Steve’s bulk earlier had wrenched something out of place, and being bodily tossed around on expensive office furniture hadn’t helped in the slightest. She reached up with her left hand, prodding the muscle and tendons around the socket to gauge how bad the damage was. She hadn’t torn a rotators cuff; her range of mobility was just fine, even if it hurt like hell. But she’d definitely strained something because the area was swelling and starting to go stiff. 

With a sigh she dropped her hand back to her lap, resting her head against the wall behind her as she looked around at the people in the room. Despite the number crowded in the small space, the atmosphere was subdued. Everyone was waiting with barely contained anxiety for some sort of news.  
  
They’d airlifted Steve to the nearest hospital were they’d been rushed down to a more private section before he was wheeled off to an operating room. Maria showed up not soon after with a handful of suits and guards, giving her a questioning look before she disappeared behind the double doors were Natasha had followed the team of nurses and doctors.  
  
She could have gone with them. She should have. But she’d seen enough soldiers on deaths door over the years. Hell, she’d had her hands literally in them trying to save their lives. This was one she could stand to miss out on. The only thing worse than waiting was watching and not being able to do a damn thing. She didn’t have it in her to go through being a helpless observer again, so she’d hung back.  
  
And wasn’t that something? She’d known Steve for less than a week and he’d still managed to have her feelings all twisted up. It had taken her longer to warm up to Riley. And that had been a brother from another mother/sister from another mister, once in a lifetime kind of friendship she’d never experience again. She hadn’t wanted to because losing him had just about ruined her. Like he’d snatched a part of her soul when he fell and it burned up right along with him. 

But Steve had to go and get under her skin and there she was hoping when he recovered (and he _was_ going to damnit) he’d stick around because having someone by her side hadn’t felt that easy, that right since Riles. And she was pretty sure he sensed it too. 

Or maybe it was all in her head and she was just a sucker for white boys with no sense of self preservation. 

One of the double doors opened and everyone’s head turned in that direction. She shot upright at the noise, her heart rate picking up when Natasha stepped through, giving the rooms occupants a passing glance before her attention settled on her. 

“Come on, Falcon. You’re needed.” 

Sam tried to get a read on her but she was giving up nothing, from her body language to her face, but a raised brow. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want an audience and Sam felt her stomach drop out from under her with apprehension. She stood quickly, ignoring how her body screamed in protest from sitting still so long, and crossed the room.  
  
The door had barely closed behind them before she was opening her mouth to ask, but Natasha spoke before she could utter a sound.  
  
“He’s going to be alright.”

The relief that went through her almost caused her to miss a step. Natasha pretended not notice.  
  
”They’ve cleaned him up and moved him to a recovery room,” she went on, walking briskly down the hall, maneuvering around bustling hospital staff. “It was touchy for a moment there─ he lost a lot of blood. But the docs were able to remove the bullets and get the bleeding under control. Luckily no major arteries were hit.”  
  
It was something she’d noticed when she’d accessed his injuries earlier. It bothered her just as much as the deep set boot prints sunk into the muck next to his unconscious body had. Someone impossible strong had fished Steve out of the water, away from the wreckage and onto shore. She was pretty sure it was the same someone who had put several new holes in him, all of which could have easily been kill shots but hadn’t.  
  
Natasha glanced her way. “I know what you’re thinking.” 

“Do you? ‘Cause I’m thinking Steve might have been right.” Sam grimaced. She didn’t want to admit it out loud. That despite all her doubt and protests to the contrary, he had remembered something. If not, they wouldn’t have found him until he was dragged out with the rest of bodies that went down with the helicarriers.  
  
“I’m not banking on his sudden reformation,” she said lowly, stopping in front of a door with the blinds in the window drawn shut, an armed guard standing beside it. “Steve might have gotten through years of programming that once, but he still has orders, protocols to follow. He’s going to stick with what’s familiar.” 

“You think he’s going back?” 

The corners of her mouth turned down minutely. “It’s what I would have done.”  
  
She opened the door and gestured for her to enter first, effectively putting an end to the subject. Sam was expecting to see Steve laid out amongst an array of machinery. Instead she found herself facing an empty exam chair and a harried looking doctor. 

“What the hell?” She started to turn and go back out but Natasha pushed her forward.

“You’re not going to be good for anyone if you’re half dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, ignoring the lady in her lime green scrubs impatiently waiting for her. “It’s nothing some ice and an anti-inflammatory won’t fix.” 

“You can’t bullshit a bullshiter, Sam,” she replied. “Get fixed up, make sure your shoulder isn’t torn up and I’ll take you to Steve.” 

She frowned at her, wondering how she even knew about it. She’d kind of been making a concentrated effort not to show how much it was bothering her.  
  
“Weren’t you the one that got shot? I don’t see you getting fused over.”

“I heal fast.”  
  
“Oh,” she rolled her eyes incredulously. “I suppose you Russians have your own super solder juice you haven’t told the world about.” 

She shrugged. “More like super spy, but we can get into semantics another time. Sit and let the nice lady take care of you. I’ll be in the hall when you’re done.”  
  
The last part was an obvious warning, so she knew it would be useless to leave once she was gone and search out Steve’s room on her own. 

Scowling, she went for the chair and plopped down with a groan. “I bet you’re just gonna say it’s vodka.” 

Nat smirked as she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Sam turned to the doctor, reading her nametag as she pulled her stethoscope from around her neck. 

“So how are we doing this,” she asked.  
  
She eyed her for a moment. “I’m going to need you to remove your shirt.”  
  
“Jesus,” she scoffed as she reached down for the hem of her t-shirt. “I don’t even get dinner first?”  
  
She managed to pull the shirt up almost over her sports bra before her shoulder decided it had enough of the day’s shenanigans and let her know it was a sharp flare up of pain. She dropped her arms with a hiss.  
  
“Need some help?”  
  
“I’ve got it,” she grumbled, slipping one arm out of its sleeve before pulling the shirt up her neck and easing it over her head, were it dislodged a few pieces of glass that had been stuck in her pulled-back braids. She slid the rest of the material off her other arm and tossed it next her on the seat.  
  
“Let’s get this over with,” she said. “I’m sure there are other people in this building that need your help more than me.”  
  
She sat through one of the quickest exams she’d ever received and Sam figured Dr. Bowlin was just as much in a rush to get out of there then she was. 

There were bruises across her ribs she hadn’t even realized were there until they were being poked at. One look at them and she knew they were from the straps of her EXO suit digging harshly into her sides when Steve’s brainwashed buddy decided he’d had enough of her buzzing about and used her wings yo-yo her around.  
  
The sore muscles didn’t hurt nearly as much as the knowledge that the very last pack, _her_ pack, was now probably buried somewhere in the headquarters’ ruble. It had been the only one to survive intact once they canned the whole program, realizing that they’d poured thousands of dollars into a project that was no safer than old school pararescue. When Riley got hit, she knew it was the end of things. Not just for her, but because out of the 10 PJs that hadn’t washed out of the preliminary training group of 20, there were only three of them left in any kind of condition to keep going.  
  
Solo flight wasn’t an option. And when the last remaining pair, Bellamy and Dang, went down trying to evac a downed pilot somewhere in the Korengal Valley (which no one should have been there in the first place… the outpost had been closed the year before for a reason. Mostly because the insurgent presence there was more than even the jug heads wanted to deal with) Project EXO was shut down and she was shuffled back to the 58 th to finish out her tour. 

But having almost two years of classified ops under her belt she couldn’t talk about made it hard for her to relate to anyone. Jumping out a Pave Hawk was small fries compared to having honest-to-god wings, and nothing they threw her way could change that. The rush had worn off and without Riley there to make it bearably even during the worst days, she knew she was burnt out. So when the time came for her to re-up she opted to head home.  
  
She hadn’t really though about what happened to her wings until her therapist out right asked if she missed them. The question had thrown her for a loop because the simple idea of missing them felt like an insult to Riley and everyone else on the team that had lost more than it seemed like they gained being in the program. She’d survived, whole and for the most part mentally sound and that alone was better than so many other people. Yearning for a piece of government tech that probably wouldn’t see the light of day unless Stark Industries decided they wanted to make public profit off the patent seemed pointless.  
  
But he’d put the bug in her ear and after a few days of stewing she called in some favors and found out her pack’s final resting place. It helped some, to bring a bit of closure to a part of her life that she was honestly ready to move on from. But she would be lying is she said she didn’t lay in bed some nights, the Mission Impossible theme running through her head as she fantasized about breaking in for them. Even if it was for just one more flight. Because hell… she missed the damn things and being in the air almost as much as she missed Riley.  
  
Now they truly were gone and she wanted to laugh at herself for being so sentimental about it. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been living a perfectly fine (if a little boringly routine) life before Steve came running into it. She didn’t exactly need them anymore now that the crisis of the past few days was over. They had one last good run and in the process helped save millions of lives. Which wasn’t so bad of a retirement.  
  
Dr. Bowlin had moved on to her shoulder and Sam tried her best to sit still as she painfully manipulated the joint and muscles there. She muttered something about a sonogram just to make sure nothing was torn when Sam had enough.  
  
“Look, I promise to get it checked out if things get worse. But I’m not sitting here waiting who knows how long it’ll take for the machine to be brought in here.”  
  
“Miss Wilson, I’d really feel better─”  
  
“ _I’d_ feel better if you went and helped take care of the hundreds of other people that have to be pouring in this hospital by now.” She sighed, realizing she should tone down the attitude a bit. “Even if there is a tear, there’s nothing to be done for it. Not now. I’m pretty sure every surgeon in the city is busy in a trauma unit right now. Me and my shoulder can wait.”  
  
The doctor squared her jaw as if she was going to argue and Sam really hoped that wasn’t the case because then she’d have to be a dick and walk out the room, Natasha be damned. But she finally rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her hips.  
  
“Fine,” she huffed. “Can you wait long enough for me to get something for the swelling then?”

Sam nodded and watched as she rushed for the door, just about slamming it behind her.  
  
She almost felt bad. Almost. But she’d never made the best patient in the past and now was not the day she was going to try turning over a new leaf. She started the arduous task of putting her shirt back on, trying her best to ignore the cuts and dried mud marring it. But the time she was done the doc was back, shoving ibuprofen and water in her hands before taping an icepack to her shoulder.  
  
“I suppose I’ll find you in Mr. Rogers room for your paperwork.” 

“Don’t plan on being anywhere else.”  
  
Dr. Bowlin sighed before passing a slip of paper her way. “Then I guess you’re free to go. Get that filled out when you get a chance for the pain. Pharmacy’s on the main floor. Just follow the signs.” 

She took it, glancing down at the barely legible writing to see what was prescribed and already knew she wasn’t going to do as directed. She’d been on Tramadol in the past and, even after following the doctor’s orders, she went through a few days of detox that turned her off from them. 

Thanking her, she scurried out of the room before she could find another reason to keep her any longer. Natasha was waiting for like she’d said, but with two steaming paper cups in hand.

“Coffee?” 

Sam narrowed her eyes at her before grabbing for the proffered drink, taking a quick sip that scalded her tongue which she barely noticed over the warmth that followed it. 

“So what’s the verdict?” She asked, looking pointedly at the icepack.  
  
Sam shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “I’ll live. Where’s Steve?”  
  
Her patience was just about on its last leg, so she was glad when Natasha didn’t delay and led her further down the hall to another room with three times the security presence. Hill was standing just outside, phone glued to her ear, face as stoic as ever. Sam didn’t envy her. From what she was able to gather she was directly in line behind Fury. And seeing as how he was ‘dead’ and all, she was the one catching all the flak now that everyone’s secrets were out in the open.

They acknowledged each other with a glance before she followed Natasha through the door, not knowing what she expected to see but dreading it none the less.  
  
But once she finally laid eyes on him, the ball of anxiety that’d been twisting around in her gut since landing at the hospital loosened. 

That’s not to say he actually looked good, she noted as she made her way over to his bed. The swelling around his face had almost receded, leaving behind mottled bruises that were already healing at various degrees. The obviously broken orbital bones around his eye and the sutures across his cheek were the worst of his injuries that weren’t covered up by sheets. Regardless, Barnes’ had done a real number on him and Steve was damn lucky for the serum that kept his head from being caved in.  
  
Shaking her head, she took gulp of her almost forgotten coffee and plopped down in the chair next to the bed. The room was quiet except for the hum and occasional beep of machinery and the noise from the busy hallway seeping in through the closed door. It was the only reason why she heard his barely audible grunt of pain as he shifted a bit under the covers. 

“What kind of pain meds do they have him on?” She asked, quickly placing her cup on the floor between her feet before laying a gentle hand on Steve’s arm, conscious of the IV line.  
  
“Not sure, really,” she responded, crossing the room to stand by her. “It’s something Banner cooked up. His metabolism burns through everything else too fast to really do anything. They only tested it a few times in New York, and never for this long. But we kept the cocktail and dosage instructions in his records just incase he ever needed it.”  
  
Sam was grateful for it because the longer they could keep him doped up the longer he could sleep and heal. With the extent of his injuries it would be a level of hell she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy to be awake for. Though she figured Steve would do his best to bear through it without complaint because he was just that bullheaded.  
  
The door opened and they both turned to see Hill peaking through.  
  
“Any change?”  
  
“No.” Natasha responded. “The doctors think he’ll be out for awhile.”  
  
“It’s the best we can hope for right now. Can you spare a minute, Romanoff?”  
  
She nodded, reaching down to one of her thigh holsters and removing a gun. 

“Here, just in case,” she said, handing it her way. “I’ll be back as soon I can.”

Sam watched them go, leaning forward in the chair to tuck the gun in the back of her BDUs. Steve shifted again, letting out another hitched moan of pain and Sam decided she couldn’t sit there and listen to his quiet suffering. Reaching over for the remote for the bed, she quickly found the power button for the flat screen hanging on the opposite wall and turned it on. Bypassing every channel that was showing the news, which was just about all of them, she finally found one that was rerunning old cartoons. Grabbing the remains of her bitter coffee, she settled in for a long wait.  
  
At some point, between the doctors and nurses coming in the check on Steve (one of which brought her another icepack and her paperwork,) she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew she was waking up with a crick in her neck from the uncomfortable way she was leaning.  
  
Disoriented, it took a few seconds for her to remember where she was. The lights in the room were dim and a glance at the window let her know she’d slept enough for the sun to go down on her. 

Steve was still out, but the swelling around his face had all but disappeared and the bruising looked more like a day or two old as opposed to just a few hours. Shaking her head in disbelief she stood up to stretch, mindful of her own injuries as she headed for the ensuite bathroom to relieve herself.  
  
Maria was sitting in her vacated chair when she exited the bathroom. She’d changed the channel on the television to the news and was half scowling at it while scrolling through a tablet in her hands.  
  
“I’ve secured you a ride home if you want to freshen up,” she said by way of greeting. “The docs are going to start lowering his pain dosage in the morning, so you have some time to take care of any personal business.”  
  
Her first instinct was to let her know that watching over Steve was the only personal business she had at the moment, but then she caught a whiff of herself and realized it would probably be a good idea to change out of her battle torn clothes and scrub off the dirt from the day.  
  
“Sounds good,” she sighed. “Where’s Natasha?”  
  
“Running interference,” Maria replied. “Your escort’s waiting outside. I’ve got things covered here till you get back.”  
  
Not wanting to go but knowing she’d feel at least a marginally better if she got cleaned up, she took one last look at Steve before heading out the room.  
  
There were two suits waiting in the hall for her amongst the guards that had been cut down to just a pair. She followed them through the twisting halls of the hospital, down a few flights via elevator, and out a back entrance to where an SUV with tented windows waited.  
  
The ride to her house took longer than it should have, but then again the streets had probably been gridlocked from the moment the helicarriers were launched. They pulled in front of her driveway almost and hour later and that’s when she remembered she didn’t have her keys.  
  
“Shit,” she muttered. All she wanted was a shower and some Advil as soon as possible.  
  
“Problem ma’am?” One of the agents, Leonard if she remembered his introduction correctly, asked from the front seat. 

“No, I just need to get my spare key from my neighbor. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Opening the back door, she slipped out the car and jogged across the street to the Patterson house, doing her best to ignore the twinges from her shoulder. She was relieved to see the light in the living room was still on, which meant they were still up despite the hour. Probably glued to the news like half of everyone else in the world. Halfway up the steps to their porch she realized she had company in the form of the other agent.  
  
“Seriously,” she asked as she made her way up to the front door and rung the bell. “I don’t need a babysitter.”  
  
“Deputy Director Hill’s orders ma’am,” Curtis replied.

Sam rolled her eyes and waited for someone to answer.  
  
It was the oldest Patterson kid that opened the door, and her eyes widened when she saw her, which meant she looked worse than she felt. 

“Hey Erin, your dad around?”

She nodded. “What happened to you?”  
  
Sam huffed out a laugh, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Mind getting him for me?”  
  
She shuffled off with another nod, yelling for her dad even as she went back towards the living room. Jason came to the still open door not too soon after, his eyes opening in the exact same comical way as his daughter’s.  
  
“Yeah, I get it. I look like shit.”  
  
Jason cleared his throat. “You alright, Sam? What happened?”  
  
“I’m fine. I just need that house key I gave you. I misplaced mine.”  
  
“Yeah, no problem,” he said, eyeing the agent standing next to her for a moment before he moved behind the door a plucked a key ring off the rack they kept up on the wall.  
  
“Thanks.” She gave him a weak smile as he handed it over. “I owe you one.”  
  
“You sure everything’s alright? Did you get caught up in the mess downtown or something?”  
  
“Or something. I promise to tell you all about over a few drinks,” she said, backing up towards the stairs. “Tell Sherry and the rest of the kids I said hey.” 

“Sure.” Jason nodded, a frown on his face. “If you need anything, just knock, okay? I mean it. _Anything_.”  
  
“Got cha.”  
  
She headed back across the street, Curtis in step with her, feeling Jason’s eyes on her back the whole while. She was one of the few people that lived alone on her street, which mostly consisted of families and a few young couples. Jason and his wife had taken to looking out for her once they realized she was also a vet. As much as it was appreciated, she wasn’t looking forward to the mother-henning that would be waiting for her once things settled down.  
  
She made it to her own front steps just as Leonard was coming around the corner of her house.  
  
“Perimeter is secure. Just need to do a sweep of the inside.”  
  
“Is that really necessary?”  
  
“Hydra has you’re information, ma’am. We need to make sure.”  
  
“Fine.” She handed over the key. “But can we can it with the ma’am thing? It’s Sam. Or Wilson. Whichever one makes you happier.”  
  
She let them go in first, standing in her dark foyer after turning off her alarm as they noiselessly made their way through both floors of her house with their guns drawn. The pressure of the one Nat had given to her was digging uncomfortable into the small of her back and she fought the urge to remove it. There was no reason for her to become paranoid, looking over her shoulder and scrutinizing every shadow, now that Hydra’s schemes had been made known. Whoever remained had bigger things to worry about then waiting to ambush her in her own home.  
  
They gave her the all clear and she went for the stairs, ignoring Curtis as she followed her up to her bedroom. Sam was too tired to complain, so instead she turned on the light and went over to her window and cracked it open for some cool air. It was still too early in the season for her to bother turning on the a/c, but the mid-day sun always left the upstairs hotter than the rest of the house.  
  
“I’m gonna shower and change. I’ll be 15, 20 minutes tops.”  
  
The other woman nodded. “I’ll be right in the hall then.”  
  
Sam waited for her to leave before closing the door and using the catch-all chair in the corner to sit and remove her mud covered boots. Barefoot, she made her way to the bathroom, pulling Natasha’s gun from the waist of her pants and leaving it on the side of the sink.  
  
She almost considered jumping in the shower clothes and all because even thinking about stripping down wore her out. But trying to remove wet clothes was worse then dry, dirty ones so she pulled them off as quickly as she could as the water heated up. 

She looked herself over in the mirror that was quickly fogging up with steam, noting the small cuts from the window and road rash from her trip on the overpass. Rumlow had gotten some good hits in, and she eyed the worsening bruising with a frown. There were going to be some boxing or martial arts classes in her near future if she was going to deal with the crap Steve brought into her life.  
  
The shower was the perfect temperature when she stepped in and she spent a good handful of minutes just letting the hot water roll over her, the torrent from the showerhead beating a steady rhythm on her abused muscles. She could gladly stay like that all night if given the opportunity. But her water heater only held so much and she still had to get back to the hospital, so she pulled off the band holding back her braids and did her best to wash them with one functioning arm. Scrubbing down the rest of her body was an easier, repetitive task so she went through the motions as quickly as she could while making a mental list of everything she needed to grab before they left.  
  
She needed another phone more than anything. Which meant she had to grab the emergency credit card out the small safe in her closet. And probably her passport too, seeing as she had no other form of identification. There were still a bag of clothes for Steve somewhere downstairs. Natasha bought several outfits during their outing that seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d need them sooner than later, considering the rate at which he was healing. 

That was the thought going through her head as she shut off the water and wrapped herself in a towel. Which was why she almost missed it as she stepped back into her bedroom with her hair dripping all over the place. But she caught a flash of something out of place as she made her way to her dresser that had her subconsciously glancing back to check what it was.

What she saw resting in her chair, the same one that had been empty minutes ago, had her backpedaling for the gun she left in the bathroom while calling out for Curtis.  
  
She must have heard the urgency that boarded on panic in her voice because the agent came bursting through her door with her own weapon drawn.  
  
“Miss Wilson! What happened?”  
  
Sam just pointed to the chair where, out of all the things in the world, Steve’s damn shield was placed in the seat. As if it belonged there.  
  
“That wasn’t there before,” Curtis said before she hollered for her partner and cautiously started checking the room. Sam was too keyed up to dignify the obvious with a response. Because there were only two people she could think of that would be able to sneak in through her barely opened window so quick and silently. And while she had a good inkling Natasha may have done it any other time, she wouldn’t be so callous to do it literally hours after everything that had gone down.  
  
“That _asshole_ ,” she muttered as she lowered her gun and Leonard came rushing into the room. He took one look at the situation and started for the hall again.  
  
“I’m gonna check outside.” 

“Don’t bother,” Sam called after him. “He’s long gone by now.”  
  
“You know who was in here,” Curtis asked even as Leonard ignored her advice and left for the stairs.  
  
“Me personally? No.” She shook her head as she went to close the window. Curtis moved as if to protest but Sam wasn’t worried about being shot at. If the damn Winter Soldier wanted her dead he had ample opportunity to get the dead done while she was naked and vulnerable in the other room.  
  
“Then who was it?”  
  
“An old buddy of the Captain’s.”  
  
All Curtis could do was frown.  
  
Sam sighed. “Let me get dressed and grab a few things so we can get out of here.”  
  
She wanted to hurry up and get back to the hospital because once Steve woke up they needed to have a long talk about his creepy ass friend.


End file.
